the wave rolled, moving the currents in the heart, dancing to the beating drum it came to die on your shores the salt to your chapped, dark fjords
I found this poem a little while ago, and thought it to be beautiful. It fits the Norwegian fjords perfectly. If you have never been in Norway, you might not know a lot about the country I call home. Norway isn’t very big, but it’s quite long, with a rough coastline. There is islands sprinkled all over the coastline, and fjords cut into the mainland like razor sharp knives. Especially the northern part of Norway is long and thin, except for the top. I’m from the narrow part, from an island on the coast. My father is from there too, and that’s where I grew up. That’s the place I think of when someone says “home”.I still feel like I belong other places too, though. I think that when you live somewhere for a few years, it becomes home in a way, if you let it. Like I let this city that I live in now, become my home for two and a half years. Like I let Reykjavík become my home for four and a half months. I have one more place that feels like home, without me actually living there for a longer period of time. This place is in the inner part of the Sognefjord, and that’s where my mother is from. She grew up there, and almost every summer in my childhood, we went there for a few weeks. It was my summer paradise. In summer the fjords can be completely still and a beautiful blue colour.In all the other seasons though, the fjords, and the sea in general, act like the poem suggest; the waves beat and throw themselves towards land. The dark fjords suddenly looks quite un-welcoming, but I still love them. Beautiful nature, mountains and fjords, but also unforgiving, harsh and rough. That’s the country I live in.